Category: Hope

Catholicism, Faith, Hope, Jesus, Personal Reflection, Prayer, Saints, Scripture

The Heart of Jesus – Pt 2

Carrie Sue Barnes

Thirty minutes ago, I decided to do a little writing. My ancient laptop takes several minutes to turn on and load up before I can open the browser, then another few minutes to load the website and move from link to link to reach this page where I can type up this post. So, I pressed the power button and walked away to retrieve my notebook from downstairs. As I reached the living room, I figured I had plenty of time to finish putting away the clean dishes which for some reason I’d only halfway done before my shower. In putting said dishes in their cupboard homes, I noticed how badly the trays in the silverware drawer needed to be washed. So I emptied those trays, made some soapy water in the sink, and washed them up. Next, I thought I really should comb out my hair since it was wrapped in a towel atop my head. My hair combed, I remembered my notebook still stowed in a bag in the living room. Reaching that room yet again, I noticed how hungry I felt as the noon hour approached. I thought I ought to have a snack or I’d end up with a headache as I so often do. Selecting something from the pantry, I headed back upstairs and promptly remembered my notebook again.

Now, here I sit. My dishes put away, silverware trays washed, hair combed, a bag of trail mix sitting beside that finally retrieved notebook, and my brain scrambling to recall the thoughts that prompted me to write in the first place.

Oh, how the fallenness inside me feeds on distraction. How busy the enemy of our souls prefers to keep us. I had a single thought on the goodness of the heart of God, followed by a thought of sharing that truth with you, and that enemy knew exactly what to do. Distract! Detour! Show her all the lesser matters that could have her attention, and convince her they deserve to have it!

No thanks to me and all thanks to the Holy Spirit, I do remember what prompted the urge to write though. It was a compilation of thoughts that have accumulated for three months now. Ever since the church’s celebration of the Sacred Heart of Jesus in late June, I keep returning to these matters. On that mid-summer morning, I sat down to read the scripture passages for Mass and found myself surprised and a little perplexed. I expected straightforward verses on the love of God, or perhaps on the nature of love itself.

God is love. Love is patient. Love is kind. Faith, hope, and love remain, and the greatest of these is love. For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son. All of these seemed obvious choices for the day’s readings. Instead I found a theme I did not predict: the Good Shepherd.

The first reading was from Ezekiel 34. While I have long been familiar with and fond of the Gospel passages about Jesus as the Good Shepherd, I tend to forget that His claim on that title was a direct fulfillment of God’s portrayal of Himself in the Old Testament. It is a portrayal of both tenderness and leadership.

I myself will look after and tend my sheep…. I will rescue them from every place where they were scattered when it was cloudy and dark…. I will lead them…. I will bring them back… and pasture them…. I myself will give them rest, says the Lord God. The lost I will seek out, the strayed I will bring back, the injured I will bind up, the sick I will heal, but the sleek and the strong I will destroy, shepherding them rightly (Ezekiel 34:11-16, edited).

This is not a distant, aloof God. This is a dedicated, leading, determined, caring God. And this is the same God who spoke in that day’s gospel passage, inviting the citizens of heaven to rejoice with Him over the repentance and restoration of a single one of His beloved flock (Luke 15:6-7).

The Sacred Heart of Jesus, the seat of His love and mercy, is the heart of a shepherd – of the Good Shepherd.

A couple weeks ago, we celebrated a beloved saint, St. Pio of Pietrelcina, mostly known as Padre Pio. He spoke countless wise words in his lifetime and one of my favorite quotes is a favorite of many: “Pray, hope, and don’t worry. Worry is useless. Our merciful Lord will listen to your prayer.” I imagine that if Padre Pio shared such advice with any of the men and women who sat before him during the up to 10 hours of daily confessions he used to hear, many of them would have asked ” how?” How do we not worry? How is that possible?

When I asked that question myself in prayer, the Spirit whispered immediately, “Because you are cared for by a shepherd with a perfect heart of love.”

A shepherd does not let his sheep wander where harm awaits them. He provides boundaries that do not restrict but rather clarify where they are provided for and safe. When his sheep do stray, he does not write them off and abandon them. He seeks them out. He combats the peril they’ve walked into and restores them to where they belong. The shepherd keeps watch. The sheep do not need to worry. They need only remain in the presence of their shepherd.

Do not worry. The One who watches over you never sleeps. (Psalm 121:3-4) Do not be afraid. The Lord who loves you is your rock, fortress, refuge, and shield. (Psalm 18:2) Cast aside anxiety and undue stress. He leads you to rest and restoration. (Psalm 23:2-3)

Do not worry. You are loved and led by the Good Shepherd.

Catholicism, Faith, Good Friday, Holiness, Hope, Jesus, Lent, Personal Reflection, Prayer, Scripture

The Good of That Friday

Carrie Sue Barnes

My sins are nailed on the cross with my Jesus.

My mistakes.

My failures.

My shortcomings.

My selfishness.

My self-loathing.

My rejections.

My punishments.

My shame.

They are nailed to the cross in the hands of Jesus and thus I can no longer hold them in mine.

With the repentant criminal beside him, I plead “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom,” and he assures me that he does. He remembers me. He remembers the me known by the Father even before I was formed in my mother’s womb, stripped of the sins that mar that creation. With his arms spread on the bloody cross, he moves my sin and shame away from me, as far as east is from west.

This is the redemption of Christ. This is the good of that incredible, unmerited Friday.

Advent, Catholicism, Christmas, Faith, Hope, Jesus, Love, Prayer, Scripture

Nothing Will Be Impossible – Advent Reflection, December 24th

Carrie Sue Barnes

Week 4, Sunday – December 24th

For nothing will be impossible for God.

Luke 1:37

With God, it is possible. These words from the archangel Gabriel are the only ones he needed to speak when Mary asked, “how can this be?”

Gabriel explained some things first, helping Mary to understand and thus helping us many generations later. He gave Mary insight into how she would bear the Son of God. He went on to offer a bit of supporting evidence in Elizabeth’s pregnancy, which Mary could confirm for herself and thus build her confidence in the angel’s message. Yet it is only his final words to her that answered the question of how these things could occur.

“For nothing will be impossible for God.” This alone elicits Mary’s fiat, her yes to God’s invitation to take up her incredible and unique role in humanity’s salvation. It is likewise the only truth necessary to elicit my own fiat.

To whatever God asks of me; to what work of His hands He calls me to participate in; to whom He asks me to serve; my yes arises from knowing that nothing is impossible for Him. I am not asked to do any of it on my own abilities and strength alone. I am invited to count on Him.

Hardships. Hurt. Illness. Grief. Trauma. Every single cross I am invited to carry in my following of Him. No less, the joys and successes; the opportunities, adventures, and marvelous blessings as I walk with Him. Every single one can be taken up with the hopeful cry, “Nothing is impossible for You, Lord!”

In all things requiring faith, my faith must stand upon two simultaneous truths: nothing is impossible for God, and God is love. In these I know and believe that God is capable of accomplishing what He sets out to do – no matter how impossible it may seem to me – and that what He sets out to do is always for my greatest good.

Is there any finer example of these great truths than the Incarnation? God becoming man in the humblest manner. God coming to live with us, serve our punishment of death, and defeat its hold on our souls. God opening the gates of heaven to every person who chooses to follow and believe. It is a most impossible plan, absurdly defying human logic and wisdom. Yet He does it, and He does it all for love of us.

With God, it is all possible. With God. it is all love.

Advent, Catholicism, Christmas, Faith, Hope, Jesus, Love, Prayer, Scripture

Like Sheep, or Cows, or Humans – Advent Reflection, December 9th

Carrie Sue Barnes

Week One, Saturday – December 9th

At the sight of the crowds, his heart was moved with pity for them because they were troubled and abandoned, like sheep without a shepherd.

Matthew 9:36, NAB

Cows used to wander into our yard from the neighboring farm when I was growing up in Michigan. The cows escaped the grazing field’s fences a few times a year and clomped up the road to my parents’ property. Vehicles needed to avoid them, their hooves tore up our grass, and one even kicked a large, lovely dent in our car door. Oh, and they pooped. A lot.

It was messy and aggravating. Yet, I always felt a little sorry for those wandering cows. When the farmer showed up to herd them back home, usually with my dad’s assistance, I imagined the cows felt the cow version of relief, and that the familiar ground and boundaries of the farm brought a sense of safety. “This is where I belong. It is good to be here with you,” they’d say in the language of Moos as they gazed at the farmer with their big, dark eyes.

Maybe if Jesus hailed from the Midwest, the crowds of people would have reminded Him of cows without a farmer. No matter the livestock comparison though, Jesus looks on us the same way. He sees us break through boundaries that only exist for our wellbeing. He understands our curiosity and tendency to wander, and He is aware of the resulting wounds. Like a caring shepherd or farmer, He goes out to find us. He meets us not with anger and condemnation, but with compassion and wisdom.

I have a picture on my wall that says, “Dear one, you are not being condemned. You are being rescued.” I put it up while I was deep in the turmoil of changing my life. The changes couldn’t come without acknowledgement of the ways I’d chosen to walk away from God and the life I was meant to lead. With that acknowledgement came the great gift of forgiveness, yet I struggled every day with harsh judgment of myself. God had cast aside my sin as soon as I asked, but I still clung to it and let it slow down every step I was making toward Him.

Like Jesus looking at the crowd in the Gospel story, He looked on me with pity. Through times in prayer and reading God’s word, and through voices sent into my life to speak truth and share love, Jesus met me where I stood in the crowd. He and the ones He sent reached out to untangle my feet from the briars of sin and its aftermath. He saw me as worthy of rescuing, and for that I thank Him daily.

We’re all in the crowd. We’re all in need of our divine shepherd. In preparing for Christmas, let us prepare for the great celebration of our shepherd’s arrival. He comes to rescue. He comes to heal. He comes to love.

Advent, Catholicism, Christmas, Faith, Hope, Jesus, Prayer, Scripture

A Home on the Holy Mountain – Advent Reflection, December 5th

Carrie Sue Barnes

Week One, Tuesday – December 5th

The baby shall play by the cobra’s den, and the child shall lay his hand on the adder’s lair. There shall be no harm or ruin on all my holy mountain; for the earth shall be filled with knowledge of the Lord, as water covers the sea.

Isaiah 11:8-9, NAB

I have a plethora of worries. It’s common for me to dub them concerns or apprehensions. I tell myself I’m only being aware and realistic. Most of the time though, I’m just plain old worrying. Much of it is tied to my children’s wellbeing, so you can be darn sure that if I saw my son or daughter traipsing anywhere near a cobra’s den, I’d be filled up with worry in a heartbeat. With that worry would come along anxiousness and a decent helping of stress.

As I write that, I realize how terribly often those words describe my state of mind. Worried, anxious, stressed, and over such a variety of matters. Maybe that is why Isaiah’s description of the peace in God’s kingdom has such a soothing appeal.

“There shall be no harm or ruin on all my holy mountain.”

Yes, please! Let me build my home there!

What is incredible about our loving God is He builds us a home there. He promises us a place in this kingdom of peace, justice, and full knowledge of the Lord. Does He stop there? No. He then comes and lives among us. He shows us by His own example how to love and pursue the kingdom of God.

Is that all? It is already so much. No, that is not all. He spells it out as simply as we need: “I am the way, the truth, and the life” (John 14:6). “And when I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also” (John 14:3). Then He bridges the gap between us and the kingdom – the gap of sin and death – and does so out of love alone.

When I consider how heavily my anxieties and fears sit upon my heart and exhaust my spirit, the freedom of living on His holy mountain seems like a dream. It is not a dream though. The Lord has made it a reality for me. For you. For each person I love. He wants me there with Him even more than I want to be there.

Many cultural messages attempt to claim that I can possess that desired home of perfect peace within this fallen world. Lord, guard my heart and mind against this fallacy. You are the way there. You are the truth of what peace awaits me in the eternal home you prepare. You are the life I will choose here until I reach the fullness of your kingdom.

Open the eyes of my soul to see the glimpses of that kingdom here and now, but keep my feet pointed toward your holy mountain.

Dignity, Faith, Gratitude, Hope, Personal Reflection

After a Year

Carrie Sue Barnes

It’s been more than a year now since I set change in motion. After the divorce became official a few weeks ago, my thoughts began often reviewing the past year. Then last night, looking for a specific photo, I paused on the first picture in this video. Day one… papers signed… gladness lighting me up.

How far I’ve come, free of doubt and full of effort. More than a year of rediscovery of my real self. The me that was silenced and gaslit (by me) for over a decade, for a relationship that did likewise. I’ve spent this year relearning how to listen to myself and my Lord.

It’s been a year of rescue, and it turns out rescue can be enormously painful. I am rebuilding trust. I work daily at rejecting fear and choosing forgiveness. Placing the years of abuse, manipulation, and resulting bitterness into God’s hands (repeatedly), I receive peace, relief, and joy in return.

He does indeed restore my soul and I will praise Him.

Family, Gratitude, Hope, Intentionality, Personal Reflection

Birthday Lilacs and Sister Walks

Carrie Sue Barnes

Today is my sister’s birthday and I woke up with a familiar ache in my heart. Something I’ve learned about grief is it’s not all that accurate to say it gets easier with time. Rather, the spaces between the difficult moments gradually grow larger.

It’s been a good while since I’ve had an especially emotional day of grief, but when it came today, it felt much like so many days crammed into the last three years. Today arrived with the same instantly recognizable longing for my sister–to hear her voice and laugh, to see her smile, to know she is here and will be here tomorrow.

Stepping outside with my Bible as the day began, I spotted the new blossoms in my bed of irises. Somehow their purple and white petals brought my mind round to Cheryl’s red and pink rose bushes. I sat down to read and pray but my thoughts remained unsettled, and I soon found myself standing in front of the flowers again. I caught the odor of lilacs from the bush a few feet away. The first bunches of blossoms had opened and the scent pulled me closer.

Cheryl loved lilacs as much as I do. I gave up blinking away my tears and inhaled the gorgeous scent. In my mind’s eye, I could see the text I would’ve sent with a photo.

The lilacs bloomed for your birthday! They smell heavenly.

How I wanted to send that text.

The tears came and went through the day. I confided in a friend who knows the pain of losing family to terrible cancer battles, and pushing through the workdays despite the distraction of that pain. I glanced through favorite photos and smiled at her smile. Cheryl hovered in my thoughts in each hour, sometimes in the foreground and sometimes in the back. When evening came and my kids were settled at their dad’s for the night, the restlessness crowded me in the quiet of my home. You know, that restlessness that comes with a longing that can’t be eased.

Take a walk.

The suggestion rose over the mental noise. I wanted a walk with Cheryl though.

Cheryl loved walks. I loved walking with Cheryl. I think we all did. Walking with Cheryl meant talking with Cheryl. She rarely pushed the pace because, I suppose, if you were out of breath you couldn’t be talking. Cheryl didn’t do much small talk. A little perhaps, but it’d pass quickly and the rest was spent on the real stuff. That’s not to say every conversation was intense, but every conversation was intentional. Cheryl knew what mattered and didn’t pretend otherwise. She treated time with you as a valuable part of her day. She listened. She drew you out. On a walk was a natural time to do all of that.

As I walked tonight, I thought how it’d be if she were at my side. We’d comment on the proud orange poppies swaying in the dim twilight. Marveling at the sunset, we might voice a scripture verse or worship song brought to mind by the beauty. She would ask questions that got to the heart of whatever burdened my shoulders. Walks with Cheryl were a treasure.

I want another. I want to end it in my front yard where we can smell the lilacs. But I’m thankful the lilacs are here. I’m grateful for each walk that we had. I’m eager for the walks we’ll take again someday.

I know the walks with her have not run out. There’s only more space in between them.